


Moon Dogs

by popfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek spends the summer season playing for the Mankato Moon Dogs, hoping to catch the eye of a major league scout. He doesn't count on someone catching his eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Tyler Hoechlin and Dylan O'Brien for loving baseball so much. And for making me love them so much. All the love to [accordingtomel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel) for agreeing to beta something for a show she didn't even watch at the beginning.
> 
> I'm playing fast and loose with ages and the structure of summer collegiate baseball leagues.

The sign was plain, a piece of white copy paper and neat block letters spelling out “Derek Hale.” The woman holding the sign was not plain, wearing bright purple scrubs with her dark, curly hair escaping from what had probably been a neat ponytail at some point in the day. She was scanning the baggage claim area, her eyes lingering on every guy in their early twenties carrying a duffel bag, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Derek couldn’t help watching her, and when her gaze landed on him she smiled, her nose crinkling up.

Derek had slept like shit (his subconscious had unloaded some pretty weird fears on him the night before) and then missed his alarm (or turned it off while still half-asleep as he only ever did on really important days). His flight had been delayed and then hit every pocket of turbulence between California and Minnesota. He was still feeling frustrated, and he was nervous about the summer ahead (playing in a collegiate summer baseball league could mean getting spotted by a scout which could mean signing with a major league club), but he could feel the tension starting to melt out of his shoulders at the sight of her smile.

“Derek?” she asked, tilting her head. He had stopped in front of her and had probably been staring, and she was going to think he was some creeper before they even officially met.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m Derek. Hale. You must be Ms. McCall.” He stuck out his hand and she took it, giving it a firm shake. She smiled again.

“Please, call me Melissa. Hell, by the end of the summer you’ll probably be calling me mom. I’ve been putting up summer leaguers for years and they usually do.”

Derek figured that meant she didn’t think he was a creeper. “Melissa it is.”

“Welcome to Minnesota. Do you have all your stuff? My son is circling in the car and I’m sure he’s getting impatient, he’s 18 so I guess he’s always impatient, his name is Scott, but I’m sure they told you all of that already. Not the impatient part, but his name.” She kept up a steady stream of talk as Derek hoisted his duffel and shouldered the strap, following her through the small crowd of people heading towards the exit.

He had known her son’s name, and a little bit of other information as well. He knew it was just the two of them, that they had no pets, and that his room had an attached bathroom, a luxury most guys would not have that summer. It was all in the packet that his coach at UC Irvine had handed him, saying, “Mankato MoonDogs, Hale. Not a bad team. Curtis Granderson was a MoonDog once.”

Derek had tried to be impressed, but he’d been shooting for the Cape Cod League and coach knew it. Every college player with dreams of going pro (and every college player dreamt of going pro) wanted to play in the Cape Cod League. He probably would’ve gotten a spot if it weren’t for his elbow and the fact that they tended to take East Coast players from big name schools before players from state schools on the West Coast.

He’d looked up Mankato to try to pump himself up. At least the weather looked nice. And he really didn’t want to complain about being able to play summer ball. If the town was laid back, so be it. It would mean less distractions, and a better chance of getting noticed. What had coach said? “Better to be a big fish in a small pond than a large one, Hale. Cape Cod's swarming with hot prospects, and a lot of them are infielders. A speedy runner with a glove like yours has a much better chance of being seen in a smaller league. Now quit your bitching and get packing.”

And he had, throwing in an extra sweatshirt because it may have been summer but it was still Minnesota.

Melissa was still talking as they stepped out into the sunshine, and Derek refocused. “It’s a bit of a drive to Mankato, hour and a half about, if you’re hungry we can stop before we head back. Otherwise I can just make something when we get home. I had the early shift at the hospital so I’m done for the day. It’s up to you.”

Derek shrugged, trying to put her at ease. “Doesn’t matter to me, honestly. Whatever’s easiest for you.” Her file had said she’d been a host mother for the Northwoods League for eight years and her previous “sons” had nothing but kind words to say about her. Most of the evaluations said she worked long hours but was still willing to do laundry and make (in the words of one player “really freaking excellent”) meals, and since the only payment collegiate summer leaguers received was room and board, Derek figured he’d lucked out.

“There’s my son, pulling around.”

A beat up sedan slowed to a stop at the curb and the door popped open. Melissa’s son, Scott, slid out and came around the front of the car.

“Scott, this is Derek. Derek, this is my son Scott.”

“Hey, man.” Scott had a goofy grin and sounded like every surfer Derek had ever met. Derek had been expecting one of those weird accents that you hear on TV, like Marshall’s parents on “How I Met Your Mother” or something. He liked the kid already. “Can I get your bag?”

“I can just toss it in the back with me.”

“Oh please, sit up front with Scott,” Melissa said, opening the back door and waving her hand at Derek. “You guys can get to know each other. He’s around the house more than I am most days.”

Derek and Scott spent the drive talking baseball. Scott had been a relief pitcher on his high school team and planned on trying out for his college team in the fall. “Though I doubt I’ll get on, or if I do I bet I’ll warm the bench in the pen. I’m not too good.” He shrugged, good natured, like it didn’t bother him one bit.

“He’s got a pretty good change-up,” Melissa piped up from the back, leaning forward between the seats to nudge her son’s shoulder. “He’s a southpaw.”

Scott rolled his eyes in Derek’s direction. “She loves the lingo, man. Just wait, you’ll hear a lot of it this summer. Mom, just ‘cause I’m a lefty doesn’t mean I’m good.”

“I know, but good left-handed pitchers are harder to find than good right-handed pitchers, right, Derek?”

Derek watched the fields roll by out the window and smiled at his own reflection.

*****

The McCall’s house wasn’t the biggest on the block, but Derek felt a fondness for it from the moment they pulled in the driveway. He thought it had something to do with the window boxes, or maybe the peeling paint on the red front door. After following Scott inside he decided it was the smell. It made him feel warm even though the air conditioning was cranked up, and reminded him of laundry dried on a line in the backyard and family dinners and laughter. How a smell could remind him of laughter he didn’t know, but it did all the same.

“You can choose a room,” Melissa was saying, dropping her purse and keys on the pass through counter between the kitchen and the dining room. “There’s one upstairs next to Scott’s, but you’d have to share a bathroom with him. Which you may not want to do.”

Scott didn’t protest, just shrugged with an easy-going “I’m a dude” grin.

“Or you can take the room in the basement. It’s not really a bedroom, more of a family room with a sleeper sofa, but there is a full bathroom down there. That’s usually where our summer boys sleep, it’s a bit more private.” Melissa was wearing the carefully blank face of a mom who knew better than to think her son (or sons, in the summer) didn’t have sex in her house, and Scott was trying to school his grin into an innocent expression but failing miserably.

Derek felt like he should take the upstairs room just to assure her that he wouldn’t be treating her house like a cheap hotel, especially since baseball was his number one priority this summer and he didn’t think he’d find any suitable, willing partners in their tiny Minnesota town anyway, but he'd been looking forward to the room he'd read in their file and the attached bathroom. “The downstairs sounds great, thanks.”

Melissa nodded once, decisively. “Scott, show him the way. We’ll let you get settled and I’ll start on dinner.”

“We have to walk through the room to get to the washer and dryer, but there’s a door that you can lock if you don’t want anyone to come in,” Scott was saying, bouncing down the stairs. Derek rolled his shoulder under the strap of his duffel, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He hadn’t been expecting his host family to make allowances for a summer fling. He certainly wasn’t making any. “And the couch is actually totally comfortable. I mean, it’s definitely not like a hotel bed or anything, but not bad for a pull-out.”

“It’ll be great, I’m sure.”

“The TV’s kind of shitty, mom would only let me have the one big one up in the living room so our old one’s down here, but there’s a Blu-Ray player and stuff, and I can bring my XBox down, too, if you want.”

Derek dropped his duffel on the couch. “Nah, I’m not big on video games.”

“Cool. Well, this is it.” Scott swept his arms out, encompassing the couch and the TV and the giant, old recliner and the desk against the wall. “Your summer home. Bathroom’s through that door,” he pointed, “laundry’s through the other door. The door that locks is the one at the top of the stairs, mom’s pretty good about it. I’ll leave you be, we’ll call down when dinner’s ready. Otherwise feel free to come up whenever, I’ll probably be on my computer up in my room. My girlfriend’s been at her family’s cabin for a week, so we have a Skype date.”

Derek chuckled. “Thanks. Get to it.”

Scott grinned and shrugged again, a gesture he seemed to use to convey a wide range of emotions. He was cute, Derek thought, laid back and sure in his skin. Definitely very cute, but thankfully not Derek’s type. Last thing he needed this summer was a crush on a straight teenager.


	2. Chapter Two

Derek had talked to a few of his teammates about summer league, and the stories varied wildly. One guy, a senior utility man who couldn’t hit for anything but threw legendary house parties, had apparently spent the entire summer sleeping his way through numerous small towns in the Pacific Northwest, and hadn’t played much baseball at all. Another had a house mom who spent the entire summer trying to marry him off to her daughter. Another had holed up in his room every minute he wasn’t playing, and still came back without a signing bonus.

Derek’s plan was to be a polite houseguest, work hard, play well, and go back to school as a top major league prospect. He didn’t see himself finding too many distractions in Mankato, especially since he wasn’t anything close to promiscuous, and the usual hangers-on that baseball players tended to attract didn’t interest him in the slightest. Mostly because he didn’t have time for people who were just out to ride on someone else’s coattails, but also because 99.9% of them were girls.

And Derek was not into girls.

This was not something he talked about. He wasn’t ashamed by any means, but he knew enough about the sad state of the world, and especially professional sports, to know that coming out could hurt his career. He chose to not talk about his personal life at all, kept it as separate from baseball as he could, even though his team at school gave him a lot of shit about it. They called him a prude, the more literary amongst them called him a eunich. He let them talk, let them tease, and practiced what he thought was an enigmatic smirk. It was usually enough to get him by.

Knowing that his old routine worked on his roommates at UCI did not make him less nervous about entering the locker room at Franklin Rogers Park for the first time.

The first day of any season was always a little off, the tension in the room palpable as guys eased around each other, claiming a locker and hiding behind the door as they changed. By the end of the first week they’d all be running around in towels, if that, flinging dirty socks and insults back and forth like they’d grown up together. Derek had seen it happen every year he’d played, and even the year he spent on the DL, not suited up and watching forlornly from the sidelines.

This group of guys seemed to be buzzing a little more than his college team, something Derek credited to the prospect of coming away from this season with a contract. The newness of everything probably contributed as well. Derek was certainly feeling more keyed up than usual, despite getting in a good run with Scott before Melissa had dropped him at the field on her way to work.

His first week with the McCalls had gone really smoothly. It had taken no time at all to settle into a routine - wake up, do a quick morning workout, eat scrambled eggs standing up at the kitchen counter with Scott, go for a run (sometimes with Scott if he wasn’t heading over to his girlfriend Allison’s immediately after breakfast). Melissa had very little free time, and the half hour she had here or there she spent watching silly television and folding laundry. She obviously loved when the boys joined her in the living room, taking up too much space and not rolling the towels the right way and making fun of the characters.

That had only happened twice so far, but Derek hoped it would happen a lot more over the summer. He had missed normal family stuff like that. He already felt like he had a brother in Scott, and he was starting to feel like he had a mother (or at least a mother figure) in Melissa.

Derek had spent some of his own free time looking up the player profiles of the rest of the Moon Dogs, so he knew faces and names before anyone introduced themselves. He was interested to see who would be the first to break the ice, and if it would happen before the coach made an appearance. He glanced around the locker room as he tied his cleats and caught the eyes of a lanky blond a few lockers down. Isaac Lahey, first baseman.

“Hey,” Derek said, hitching his chin up.

“Hey.” Isaac nodded jerkily, his eyes wide. He looked really freaked out. Derek could understand nerves but Isaac looked on the verge of a panic attack. Derek straightened up and offered his hand.

“Derek Hale. Second base. University of California at Irvine.”

Isaac’s shoulders seemed to loosen up some and he shook Derek’s hand. “Isaac Lahey, first base. Texas A&M.”

“Nice to meet you. This your first summer league?”

Isaac nodded again, less like his head was being yanked up and down this time, and smoothed down the front of his jersey. “Can you tell?”

Derek waggled a hand in a “kind of” gesture. “It’s a little nerve wracking, hey?”

Isaac huffed out a laugh. “You can say that again. I get a little anxious around new people, so I apologize if I look like I’m about to bolt.”

Derek grinned, trying to put him at ease. “Nah, you look just like the rest of us.”

“Which is to say totally freaked the fuck out.” The dark skinned bald guy on the other side of Isaac pitched in. “I feel you, man. I hope it’s just first day jitters because I feel like I could crawl out of my skin. Sinqua Boyd, call me Boyd.” He clapped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and reached his other out to Derek to shake.

“Guess the first timers will just have to stick together.” Derek felt the ridiculous urge to take the two of them under his wing, like he was some veteran and didn’t feel every bit as nervous as they did. He wondered if the urge was just a typical big brother thing, something he’d forgotten about since losing his sister.

The energy in the room ratcheted up a notch when the manager entered, various members of the coaching staff trailing behind him.

“Moon Dogs, circle ‘round. Let’s get this party started.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at Isaac and Boyd and led them to the loose circle that was forming around the coach.

“Welcome to Franklin Rogers Park, or the Frank as we like to call it. I’m Coach Finstock. You can call me Coach Finstock. We’re going to start with some drills, everyone together. I don’t care if you’re a pitcher or an infielder, everyone together. I know some of you are big deals on your college teams, and I want you to know before we even get started that I don’t really give a damn. You still have to prove yourself here. Check your egos at the door and get your asses on the field.”

Derek exchanged a look with Isaac and he could see Boyd’s eyes widening on the other side. It was going to be an interesting season.


	3. Chapter Three

Isaac and Boyd stuck to him during practices, and though the rest of the team was friendly enough Derek was starting to feel like the three of them could be actual friends. After a particularly grueling day of drills he overheard the relief pitchers talking about going out for a beer, and decided to tag along, and ask Isaac and Boyd if they’d like to as well.

Most of the team wasn’t 21, but there was one bar in town that apparently turned a blind eye to the summer leaguers. Derek had a fake ID just in case, though usually his particularly thick five o’clock shadow did the trick. Isaac and Boyd were a little more baby-faced, but they both seemed eager to get out and explore the town, loosen up a little.

Derek texted Scott after he showered, letting him know where the team was headed. He usually didn’t like to mix team friends with non-team friends, even at school they were different groups of people. Derek couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with Scott, so he went for it. He got a response back as they were piling into the car with an outfielder who was local and volunteered to drive: _awesome bringing Stiles he just got back from family vacation needs booze_.

Stiles. Scott’s best friend. Derek had learned a lot about Stiles since arriving at the McCall’s; Scott liked to talk about him almost as much as he liked to talk about Allison. Derek didn’t remember all the details, but one thing had stuck with him, making him feel a connection to Stiles even though they hadn’t met yet - Stiles’s mom had died a few years ago. Derek knew how it felt to lose family suddenly, tragically, too young. He wondered if Stiles carried a weight around in his chest like Derek did.

Derek dragged his brain away from those thoughts and focused on the chaotic conversation around him in the car. He felt good about the night ahead. Getting to know his new friends, his new team. He was excited to hang out with Scott outside the house, and to meet Stiles. The possibilities were endless.

The bar itself was excellent. The floor was worn, the tables were scratched, the light was dim, and the beer was cheap. Derek carried a stack of plastic cups and a full pitcher to the booth that Isaac and Boyd had commandeered and poured a beer for each of them before holding up his own cup.

“To the Moon Dogs,” he said, trying not to slosh foam everywhere as he bumped his cup against Isaac’s.

“Why do I feel like we should be howling?” Boyd cracked, rolling his eyes.

The tables on either side of them were full of teammates and someone craned their neck back and howled up at the ceiling.

“Moon Dogs does not necessarily mean wolves!” Isaac shouted as more of the guys joined in. The other patrons in the bar barely blinked, making Derek wonder if this was something that happened every year. Did the bartenders have a pool, pick the day the team shows up and starts howling? The thought made him grin around the lip of his cup.

Boyd gave in and joined the pack, his howl trailing off into laughter. “C’mon, guys, you don’t want to be left out,” he nudged Isaac, who shook his head. Derek saw Scott come through the door and used him as an excuse to slide out of the booth before he got roped into howling, too.

“Scott,” he called, lifting a hand in a wave. Scott waved back, laughing, and made his way through the tables, a guy in tow that Derek assumed was Stiles.

“Hey,” Scott said, still laughing. The howls were starting to subside, but Scott still had to speak up to be heard.

“It’s a little early in the season for howling, isn’t it? Or at least early in the lunar cycle.” The guy next to Scott was shaking his head, his mouth quirked in a grin. He met Derek’s eyes and held out his hand. “I’m Stiles, by the way, since my good friend here knows as much about etiquette as a potato.”

Derek barked a laugh, surprised, and shook Stiles’s hand. “I’m Derek.”

“My summer bro,” Scott said.

Stiles’s eyebrows went up. “Bro already? Watch out, I get possessive.”

Derek shrugged and fought a grin. He hadn’t been expecting someone so sarcastic as Scott’s best friend. He had figured Stiles would be quieter, brainier maybe, a different kind of foil to Scott’s puppy-like enthusiasm. Then again that was the role Scott’s girlfriend seemed to play, so sarcastic sidekick kind of made sense. Derek could definitely do sarcasm, but chose to be as deadpan as possible when responding.

“I’m already planning family portraits,” he said, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. He was rewarded with a full body guffaw from Stiles and felt a spread of warmth through his gut.

Boyd and Isaac immediately welcomed Scott and Stiles to the booth, and the conversation centered around baseball for most of the night. Stiles played as well, and he claimed to be even worse at it then Scott.

“I have very selective hand-eye coordination,” he said, sprawling a little more in the booth with each beer. Derek had only finished two, but Scott and Stiles seemed intent on getting plastered, and were well on their way. “It’s like when no one’s watching I’m fine, but the second another person is around, wham,” Stiles smacked his hand on the table, a little too hard if the way he shook it out afterwards was anything to go by, and made the cups jump, “Stiles, meet floor.”

Everyone laughed but Derek, who didn’t find it funny at all. He could spot humor-as-a-defense-mechanism a mile away. But Stiles looked pleased to have made everyone laugh, and Isaac chimed in with an embarrassing story about himself, and Derek’s shoulders loosened up.

A little after midnight Scott slid out of the booth to get a fresh pitcher and almost face planted on the dusty floor. Stiles laughed, getting to his feet and holding Scott steady with a hand on the scruff of his neck. “Well, gents, we have a mile long walk home ahead of us, and with Stumbly McGee here it’ll probably take an hour, so we should head out.”

Derek stood as well, stretching his arms up over his head. “I’ll walk with you, no sense in waiting for a ride home if you’re already heading there.”

“Gotta pee,” Scott mumbled, his eyes half closed and his head drifting toward Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Guess we’re making a stop. Meet you outside?”

Derek said his goodbyes and went out into the parking lot, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. It was a perfect summer night, still warm but with a nice breeze, moon bright and high in a nearly cloudless sky. Derek wasn’t used to being in a place where you could see so many stars, and he tilted his head back, eyes skipping from pinpoint of light to pinpoint of light.

There was a crunching of gravel and then Stiles came up next to him, glancing over at Derek before tipping his own head back. They were quiet for a moment and then out of the corner of his eye Derek saw Stiles lift a hand, pointing.

“You can still see Canis Minor,” he said, and Derek felt his forehead furrow in a frown.

“Small … dog?” He knew enough about romance languages and proper Latin names to figure that out, and got a crooked smile from Stiles when he turned his head to see if he was right.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking more pleased than Derek felt the situation warranted, but then Stiles swayed a little on his feet and Derek remembered that he was plastered. “Small dog. Scott thought it meant little tooth the first time I pointed it out to him.”

Derek chuckled, shrugging. “Not a bad guess.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

Derek shrugged again, and went back to stargazing. “So which one is Canis Minor?”

Stiles stumbled a little as he brought his arm back up, bringing him closer to Derek’s side. He could feel the warmth from Stiles’s body, probably running hotter with all the alcohol coursing through his system, and the string of his hoodie brushed the hairs on Derek’s forearm. Stiles’s hand wavered in front of Derek’s face.

“It’s fading, it’s a winter constellation, but you can see Procyon, the brightest star, just there.”

Derek followed Stiles’s index finger and picked out the prick of white in the near-black sky. “I think I see it. Procyon?”

“Yeah. Seventh brightest star in the night sky.”

Derek watched Procyon wink out and in as Stiles’s arm dropped through his line of sight. When he turned his head Stiles’s face was closer to his than he expected.

“I have a telescope,” Stiles said, lifting a shoulder as if that explained everything, and Derek wanted to ask him a million questions about his telescope, and the stars, and his life, and he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Dudes, ready to go?” Scott called from behind them and Derek jumped back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, and figured it wasn’t too far from the truth when Stiles swayed again, towards him, looking dumbstruck.

Scott jumped between them, oblivious and giddy, and threw an arm around each of their shoulders. “What an excellent night.”

Derek clenched his jaw and looked away as they started walking. A part of him couldn’t help but disagree.


	4. Chapter Four

Stiles was a nuisance.

The walk home from the bar had been bad enough, with Stiles going on and on about the stars and his knuckles brushing Derek’s side when they both put their arms around Scott’s waist to hold him up. Derek could feel his forehead puckering a frown that just got deeper and deeper the more Stiles talked, and when they had finally reached the end of the McCall’s driveway Derek had practically yanked Scott away and turned his back, only offering a grunt in response to Stiles’s confused goodbye.

Derek had not slept well at all, and was incredibly grumpy all through practice. He turned down an invitation to go out again that night, wanting nothing more than to go home and take a long shower and get his shit back together.

He offered to help Melissa with dinner, laying lasagna noodles in neat rows and washing lettuce for a salad. It was relaxing, comforting, as the kitchen filled with warmth and good smells and idle conversation.

Derek heard the back door open and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and knew without a doubt who had just walked in even before Melissa said, “Hey, Stiles, just in time to set the table.”

Stiles dominated the conversation during the meal, and Derek glowered at his plate while he rambled on about his vacation with his dad, the Sheriff, and his part time summer job filing at the police station, and how he was really looking forward to the first game of the season, even if they did have to go to Willmar ...

Derek’s head jerked up. “What?”

Stiles’s hand stalled in the air where it had been flapping for the past twenty minutes, because it seemed he couldn’t tell a story without losing control of his limbs. “What?”

“You’re coming to the game?”

Stiles looked from Derek to Scott to Melissa and then back to Derek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, dude,” Scott grabbed another piece of garlic bread and took half of it in one bite.

“It’s two hours away,” Derek said, ignoring the look that Stiles was giving Scott.

“We know,” Stiles said, drawing out his vowels like he was talking to a child. Derek scowled down at the table.

“We’re not going to drive back right after the game,” Scott said, like Derek was worried about that. “We’re staying for Thursday’s game too.”

Derek did not find that comforting.

*****

Derek spent the bus ride listening to Isaac and Boyd rhapsodize about the girl they met at the bar the night before, Erica. He had learned a few things about Erica by the time they arrived at the park where the diamond was, but the one that stuck in his head was that she was coming up for the game with Scott.

And Stiles.

Derek grimaced as he grabbed his bag down from the overhead, and resolutely shoved any thoughts of Stiles out of his mind. Stiles had proven (in the roughly eight hours Derek had spent in his presence) to be distracting in an alarming and unexpected way, and Derek really wanted to not botch his first game.

After batting practice the team gathered in the visitor’s locker room, Coach Finstock pacing in their midst. “Listen up, guys. This is the first game of the season. We’ve been working hard the past couple of weeks to be ready for this night. You all know what you need to do. Get your bat on the ball and hustle, and everything else is cream cheese. Asses on the field!”

Derek kept his eyes on Boyd’s back as they filed out to the dugout. The announcer was doing starting lineups as they took their seats. Derek was retying the laces on his cleats when the gravely voice boomed out, “Batting sixth, second baseman Derek Hale.”

Derek had succeeded in not glancing into the stands once since arriving at the stadium, but the small cheer that went up after his name was announced made him turn his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. There were five of them, all wearing eye-searing orange Moon Dogs shirts. Isaac had gone on at length about Erica’s hair, so Derek already knew she was the blonde. Allison was with Scott, of course, matching mile-wide smiles on their faces. The fifth person in the group was unfamiliar to Derek, a petite redhead clapping politely next to Stiles.

Derek turned back to his laces and gritted his teeth.

A girl for Isaac, a girl for Scott, and a girl for Stiles.

Derek felt a flare of annoyance, and tamped it down. There was no reason for him to care that Stiles had a girlfriend. There was no reason for him to care about Stiles at all. He was Scott’s best friend, so Derek would probably have to see him a lot over the summer, but Derek would probably also have to see Allison a lot and that thought didn’t provoke any kind of extreme emotion in him.

After the third out was called Derek jammed his hand into his glove and trotted out to his spot on the field. He was going to focus on the game and forget about Stiles and redheaded girls and everything other than baseball.

Derek went 2-4 and scored a run, and the Moon Dogs won the game. They were giddy in the locker room, the noise level ratcheting up high enough that Isaac had to shout to let Derek know he was heading out for the bus. Derek pulled on his jeans, grinning to himself, and felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

It was a text from Scott. _We got booze in our room come celebrate!!!!!!!!!!!_

Derek stared at it until the screen went black.

He climbed onto the bus and plopped into the empty seat across from Isaac, all the euphoria from the game gone.

“You going to the party?” Isaac asked, his eyes shining. Derek hadn’t texted Scott back, and was pretty dead set on not going to their room to celebrate, but Isaac looked so excited he found himself wavering.

“We just won our first game, we gotta celebrate,” Boyd said, leaning forward and smiling.

Derek decided he was right. He didn’t want some guy he’d just met and his pretty redheaded girlfriend to ruin the first win of his summer league season.

“I’m in.”

Isaac and Boyd whooped, and started in on another appreciative conversation about Erica’s hair, and Derek set his jaw.

He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision.


	5. Chapter Five

The team had a block of rooms in a cheap motel for the night and Derek had been assigned to a room with Jackson Whittemore, one of their starting pitchers. Derek didn’t know much about Jackson other than he had a nasty sneer and an even nastier slider. He eyed Derek’s cheap duffel with disdain and swung his leather bag up onto one of the double beds.

“Are you wearing those shorts to the party?”

Derek didn’t even glance down at his shorts. They were cut off sweatpants, and he couldn’t care less. He packed for baseball, not socializing, so his workout shorts were the only non-uniform clothes he had with him. “I am. It’s not a party, anyway. It’s just drinks in someone’s room. Were you invited?”

Jackson’s eyebrow answered for him, in a perfect arch that clearly asked why Derek thought he wouldn’t be invited. Derek just shrugged and jammed his Mets cap onto his head, pocketing his room key. Jackson was unpacking a toiletry bag larger than any Derek had ever seen, so he figured it would be a while.

Derek could hear the din of conversation and laughter the moment he stepped off the elevator, and pushed open the door to Scott’s room to find that most of the team had been invited. The room was crowded and hot and Derek set his mouth in a line, telling himself he’d have one drink with Scott and then go up to bed.

“It’s my summer bro,” Scott crowed from across the room, actually climbing over one bed to get to him, and face planted into Derek’s chest. “You need a drink,” he said, muffled by Derek’s tee shirt, and Derek grabbed him under the armpits to haul him upright. Scott beamed at him.

“He may have already been doing shots,” Stiles said, appearing at Scott’s side, a plastic cup in his hand. Scott gave him a thumbs up. “We have cheap whiskey and cheaper vodka, what’s your poison?”

“Whiskey,” Derek said, and Scott slapped him on the arm.

“Excellent choice. Stiles, make the man a drink. I have to dance.” Scott wormed his way back into the crowd, calling for Allison.

“I can get it myself,” Derek said.

“Nah, I need a refill anyway. Bar’s in the bathroom.”

Derek followed Stiles into the bathroom reluctantly and watched him pour whiskey and soda into a cup. He wiggled his fingers over a package of straws and pulled out a blue striped one, then an orange, and slid both into Derek’s drink before passing it over. Derek felt his eyebrows climb his forehead.

Stiles shrugged. “Because of your hat.”

Derek looked up at the underside of his cap brim, then back at Stiles, who was wrapping his mouth around his own orange and blue straws. Derek’s mouth felt dry, and he took a drink, the whiskey burning down his throat. He coughed a little, covering his mouth with a fist, and Stiles grinned around his straws.

“They’re my favorites, too. Have fun,” he said, and left Derek standing in the bathroom.

*****

Derek was almost done with his first drink when Isaac and Boyd finally arrived, and they talked him into staying for another. They introduced him to Erica, who was brash and snotty and clearly enamored with Boyd. Isaac was devastated, and decided to drown his sorrow in vodka, and Derek stuck around to cut him off before he got alcohol poisoning.

Stiles had made attempts at conversation all night and Derek had made excuses to get out of it every time. The third time he was sure Stiles’s mouth had tightened in frustration but Derek ignored it. He was just a side effect of being friends with Scott, like Allison was, and Derek wasn’t going out of his way to hang out with Allison.

Isaac ended up slumped in the desk chair, and Derek had to lunge to catch the cup tilting out of his hand. He levered Isaac out of the chair and started walking him towards the door, irritated that once again he was stuck with dragging a drunk person home, when Stiles popped up on Isaac’s other side.

“Want some help?”

Derek frowned, readjusting his grip on Isaac, who was a lot heavier than he looked. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Well, you look like you could use help, even if you’re glaring at me for no reason.” Stiles set his cup on the floor and dragged Isaac’s arm around his own shoulders.

They waited for the elevator in silence. When it arrived they propped up Isaac up in a corner and as soon as the doors slid closed Stiles started talking. “You can stop flaring your nostrils like a bull. I’ll leave you alone as soon as we get him into his room. I don’t know what I did to get on your bad side but you clearly don’t like me very much. And whatever, that’s fine, I don’t care. Except that Scott thinks you’re pretty awesome and you’re here all summer, and we’re going to end up seeing each other. I’m not going to stop going to games just because you’ve got some issue with me. So stop with the face and let’s just try to be civil, okay?”

Derek was still thinking of a response when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Stiles sighed and reached for Isaac, and Derek helped him drag Isaac into the hallway.

They dropped Isaac onto his bed and were both crouched down untying his shoes when Derek unclenched his jaw and said, “Fine.”

Stiles’s fingers stilled on Isaac’s laces. “Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” Derek pulled Isaac’s shoe off and pushed to his feet.

Stiles did the same, facing Derek with his hands on his hips. “That’s all you got?”

Derek tried not to glare, smoothing his expression out as much as he could. “Thanks for helping with Isaac.”

Stiles stared at him for a beat and then threw up his hands. “You’re welcome. Have a great night.” He brushed past Derek and out of the room.

Derek rubbed a hand over his face. He’d never felt so frustrated. There was something about Stiles that really got under his skin, and he could not afford to let that happen. That summer was about baseball, and getting signed. But Stiles wasn’t going away, and he was right about them seeing each other. Derek would have to push whatever he was feeling - and that was something he didn’t want to think about long enough to figure out - aside and be civil, like Stiles said.

Isaac gave a rumbling snore in his sleep and snapped Derek out of his thoughts. He lined Isaac’s shoes up in the closet and put the wastebasket next to the bed. He figured Isaac would need it.


	6. Chapter Six

Isaac wasn’t the only Moon Dog to arrive at warm ups hungover the next day, but the team still managed to sweep the Stingers in impressive fashion, and Derek slept like a rock on the bus ride back to Mankato that night.

The morning of the home opener was bright and warm, and Derek scrambled eggs while listening to Scott go on about how excited everyone was to tailgate in the park.

“There are fireworks after, did you know? This town goes nuts for fireworks. We’re gonna hold the top row of the bleachers so we have the best view.” Scott paused, and made a weird face. “Are you going to watch with us? Boyd and Isaac are.”

Derek shrugged. “Sure.”

“I didn’t know, ‘cause of, you know.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Scott winced a little. “Because of what?”

“Because of you, you know, not liking Stiles. Which really bums me out, by the way.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a sip of coffee to stall for time. Scott kept eating, but he did look bummed, which was not a good look on Scott. Derek felt like he’d kicked Scott’s puppy, even though if anyone was a puppy in the situation it was definitely Scott.

“I don’t not like Stiles,” Derek said slowly, trying to choose the right words. “He’s just …” He had no idea how to finish that sentence.

He’d thought about it the night before, and the night before that, and all the nights since he’d met Stiles if he was honest with himself. He’d tried to figure out why he reacted the way he did to someone everyone else seemed to like just fine, to pinpoint exactly what it was that irritated him so much. Stiles used more words than strictly necessary and had a sarcastic sense of humor that could cross the line to cutting, and when he talked he used his whole body for emphasis, and he had the most expressive face Derek had ever seen. It was stretchy, almost, like it was made of Play-doh.

Very pale, very freckled, very smooth Play-doh.

Derek had tried to reason out why Stiles’s mere presence irritated him so much but he kept coming back to one thing.

Derek was irritated by Stiles because he was attracted to him.

It had been an unfortunate, but fairly obvious, conclusion. Derek had no idea how to handle it, but he couldn’t keep acting like he hated Stiles if it was going to upset Scott. The kicked puppy look was not good on him.

He realized Scott was still waiting for him to finish his sentence, fork held mid-air and eyes wide.

Derek coughed, and rolled his eyes. “He’s just Stiles. Don’t you find his flailing annoying now and then?”

Scott’s face pinched, and he dropped his fork to his plate. “Stiles isn’t annoying! He’s my best friend!”

Derek pulled one corner of his mouth into his cheek in what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of a grin. It seemed to work because Scott went from glaring to chuckling, and Derek let out a breath. “Honestly, Scott, Stiles is fine. I don’t not like him.”

“Good.” Scott went back to eating his eggs, smiling. “Meet us on top of the bleachers after the game, then.”

Derek would just have to pretend that Stiles had no effect on him. He could do that.

*****

Derek was surprised by the turn-out for the game, even though Scott had been telling him all week how much Mankato looked forward to Moon Dogs season. Attendance was announced at two thousand but sounded more like twenty thousand every time Derek got up to bat.

The pitching was shaky on both sides, but the Moon Dogs made up for it with their bats, and ended up taking the game 10 - 5. The crowd noise wasn’t as deafening as Derek had heard in major league stadiums, but it was loud enough to make Derek’s skin tingle every time he got up on deck.

The temperature had dropped slightly by the time they were showered and changed and filing out of the locker room. Boyd loped towards the bleachers, and Isaac trudged along behind him. Derek picked out Erica’s bright blonde hair on the top bench, in the middle of a small cluster of people that included Scott, Allison, and Stiles.

Derek took a fortifying breath and climbed the steps.

“Awesome game, dude,” Scott called, grinning behind the cloud of Allison’s hair. They were cuddled up under a blanket and Allison tucked her legs up to make room for Derek as he came down the row.

“Yeah, awesome game,” Allison echoed. “Great double play in the third.”

“We’re teaching Allison baseball,” Scott said. “This was her first game.”

Scott pressed a kiss to the top of Allison’s head, and on his other side Stiles rolled his eyes.

“It was a truly special evening to be a part of,” he intoned. He had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up and his cheeks were red. Derek tried not to scowl. He thought Scott and Allison were cute most of the time but he only had to deal with them in small doses. Stiles had just sat through a three and a half hour game with them and looked like he’d had enough.

“Where’s Lydia?” Derek asked. Derek had learned her name at breakfast, when he asked Scott who the redhead at the game was, but hadn’t wanted to push for more information in case he made Scott suspicious. He was also trying not to want any more information, because he wasn’t supposed to care if Stiles had a girlfriend.

Stiles’s eyebrows scrunched together and his shoulders hunched up. “I don’t know,” he said, looking at Derek like he might be a little crazy. “She hooked up with one of your pitchers at the party the other night so she probably headed out with him?”

“What?”

“Whittemore, the starter from the other night,” Allison supplied.

“Right. The guy with the unfortunately nice cheekbones.” Stiles sighed. “Her hanging out with us was too good to be true anyway. She’s been ignoring me since the third grade, no reason for her to stop now.”

Derek stared. He had assumed that Lydia was Stiles’s girlfriend, but apparently Stiles was not only not dating Lydia but the kind of person that noticed another guy’s cheekbones.

His train of thought was interrupted by a burst of color and sound, and he turned his face up to the sky.

The fireworks weren’t the most impressive Derek had ever seen, but there were a few interesting shapes and a couple of the ones that looked like giant sparkly spiders that Derek actually really liked. Fireworks were also loud, especially when they were set off from the low roof of a building twenty feet away, so Derek didn’t have to worry about conversation.

Stiles seemed entranced by the fireworks, his eyes shining in the flashes of blue and green, “oohing” and “aahing” along with Allison when something was particularly bright or particular loud. Derek found himself looking over at him to catch his reaction, watching Stiles grin up at the sky.

The finale was a flurry of the bright, booming flashes that Derek had never understood the point of, but the crowd went crazy, clapping and cheering. Scott was holding his hands over Allison’s ears and Stiles had his face squinched up, but he was yelling just as loud as everyone.

Derek had his hands tucked into his pockets for warmth and didn’t clap, and after everything had quieted down and Allison was folding the blanket Scott asked, “Do you not like fireworks?”

Derek didn’t know why Scott was so concerned with him liking things. “I like fireworks just fine,” he said.

“You seemed unimpressed,” Stiles said. “You’ve seen one firework you’ve seen ‘em all, is that it?”

Derek clenched his jaw, but Stiles was smirking, and Derek relaxed. “Just like babies,” he said, falling back on the deadpan that he’d used the first night they met, and was rewarded with another surprised bark of laughter. Derek lowered his chin into the collar of his jacket and pressed his lips together to keep from joining in.

Scott looked pleased, and clapped his hands together. “Stiles, start the Jeep, Allison’s cold.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad that this took so long, and I've had a comment or two wondering whether this has been abandoned. I promise I am not abandoning this story. I will finish it if it kills me.

Derek felt like he’d been hit by a bus instead of just having spent four and a half hours riding one.

The Moon Dogs had just arrived back in Mankato after a grueling two game series in Duluth, which they split with the Huskies, one game apiece. The second game had been a slug fest, as the journalism major who wrote the newsletter for the website had put it, with a total of thirty-three hits and twenty-three runs over eleven innings.

Derek had contributed three hits to the Moon Dogs’ seventeen, and had scored two runs. He’d slept restlessly on the way home, too cramped in the bus’s seat to really get comfortable. He looked forward to sprawling on the couch in what he knew would be an empty house, clicking around the internet for a little while, and then going to bed.

Stiles showed up just as Derek was about to sprawl.

“Hey,” he said, looking wary.

Derek had been away since the night of the fireworks, playing four games on the road, and Scott and Stiles hadn’t come out to either series. Scott assured Derek they would’ve been in St. Cloud over the weekend but Scott had shifts at the animal clinic he worked at part time, and Stiles hadn’t wanted to drive up with just Erica because according to Scott she was “kind of terrifying.”

“Hey,” Derek said, trying to sound pleasant.

“Hey,” Stiles said.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Stiles shuffled his feet in the foyer.

“Scott isn’t home,” Derek finally said, and Stiles’s face shifted into something closer to annoyance.

“Are you kidding? I’m even late because I stopped for snacks.” He held up a package of licorice and a can of Pringles, brandishing them at Derek.

“Sorry?” Derek wasn’t sure why he was apologizing for Scott, but he didn’t know what else to say. Stiles blew out an irritated sigh.

Derek figured sprawling on the couch was no longer in the cards, so he sat in one corner instead, and turned the TV on. He could hear Stiles still shuffling near the door, and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to stand there and wait for him. Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” Stiles muttered, but he sat anyway, pressed against the opposite arm of the sofa like Derek had a contagious disease.

Derek sagged against the cushions, exhausted from the game and the bus ride. He could see Stiles look over at him from the corner of his eye.

“Long game, huh?”

Derek glanced over and raised his eyebrows.

“The games are broadcast online,” Stiles said, and shrugged. He slid the remotes around, lining them up on the coffee table.

“You listened?” Derek was surprised. Scott had said that they were fans, but that seemed a step above and beyond.

“It was a good game. You played well.”

“Thanks.” Derek watched Stiles fidget, shifting the remotes like he was playing a shell game. “Hey, you want to play something while you wait?”

Derek knew it was an odd request, especially coming from him, but he didn’t think it warranted the look Stiles threw his way, one of the remotes tumbling off the table. He frowned, reaching down to pick it up at the same time Stiles did, their hands fumbling together under the table for a moment before Derek’s fingers closed around the plastic. Stiles’s cheeks were red, like they got in the cold, spots of color under his cheekbones.

“Scott’s been teaching me how to play Call of Duty, he said you’re pretty good.”

“Just pretty good?”

Derek lifted a shoulder and smirked, and Stiles turned fully to face him.

“Oh it’s on.”

Stiles played video games like he did everything else: loudly, and with his whole body. Derek found himself getting sucked into it, shouting at the screen and jumping when grenades went off.

“Dude, cheap shot!” Stiles yelled, jerking his controller around while his character respawned.

“Whatever, I got you fair and square.” Derek jabbed at the buttons..

“You have an interesting definition of fair.”

Derek maneuvered his character around the corner of a burned out building just as Stiles’s character was popping back into existence, and shot him twice.

“What the hell? You can’t kill a guy right when he’s respawned!”

Derek pumped a fist in the air, grinning, and Stiles jabbed him in the side with one elbow. Derek jabbed him back, and then noticed how close Stiles’s flailing had brought them, their hips pressed together and their arms brushing. Stiles was already back in the game, his tongue poking out between his lips as he tilted his controller, and Derek felt a furl of heat in his stomach.

“Hey, come on man, you can’t just stand there. Make it interesting for me at least.” Stiles’s character came to a halt and Stiles glanced over. “Derek?”

Derek let his controller drop between his knees. “I think maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.”

Stiles frowned, and his face was too close, and Derek gets the sudden and unwanted urge to kiss the downward turn of his mouth.

“Want to go get a drink?”

Stiles looked from Derek’s face to the television and back again, confused. “Uh, sure? Let me text Scott.”

Stiles’s Jeep was manual transmission, and Derek had to keep his eyes off of Stiles’s long fingers curled over the gear shift. He focused on Stiles’s truly awful taste in music instead, and hoped that Scott would come through on his texted promise to join them, which had come after his texted apology that he hadn’t been home when he’d said he would be. Stiles had read both texts off in what he called his “Scott is a dopey puppy” voice, and Derek had laughed, tucking the XBox controllers away.

The bartender was a brunette that Derek didn’t recognize from previous evenings out, and she put on a shamelessly flirty smile when he and Stiles slid onto stools. “Hey there,” she said, leaning forward in a way that showed off her cleavage. Derek’s smile was tight, he hated ploys like that, and he kept his eyes fixed on hers.

“Whiskey coke? And whatever he’s getting,” Derek gestured towards Stiles.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said.

“Gorgeous guy wants to buy you a drink, kid, you let him,” the bartender said, her eyes traveling down Derek’s chest suggestively. Derek didn’t roll his in turn, but it was a near thing.

“You can get the next one,” Derek said, ignoring the innuendo and the way the bartender was now licking her lips. Stiles watched Derek with his eyes narrowed, and Derek didn’t like the calculating glint in them or the way he could practically hear Stiles’s gears turning. Derek almost wanted to flirt a little with the bartender, throw Stiles off the scent, but if he gave the bartender an inch she’d take more than a mile and he wasn’t in the mood to fend off advances all night.

Stiles ordered a beer, and the bartender let her fingers slip over Derek’s as she handed him his change. “If there’s anything else I can get you,” she said, her eyelashes actually fluttering, “let me know.”

Derek turned away, and couldn’t stop the grimace that crossed his face.

They settled in a booth and Derek raised an eyebrow when Stiles propped his sneakers on the bench next to Derek’s hip. Stiles got comfortable in his corner, beer foam on his upper lip, and Derek glanced towards the door, willing Scott to appear. The comfortable state they’d slipped into on the couch, shooting each other with automatic weapons, had disappeared and Derek felt keyed up. The jangle of the country music that played on the jukebox wasn’t helping.

Stiles’s eyes jumped from his beer to Derek’s face to the general vicinity of the bar and the brunette bartender’s barely covered breasts, and then back. “So, she’s pretty hot.”

Derek swirled his straws in his drink and shrugged. He wanted to convey disinterest in her type as in the pushy type and not the female type, and he had not idea how to do that with just his shoulders and eyebrows, but he tried anyway.

Stiles didn’t look like he bought it.

“Do you not like brunettes?”

Derek’s eyes flicked over Stiles’s dark brown buzzcut, and he dragged them back to the worn wood of the table. “I don’t really choose people based on their hair color.”

“Eye color then? Prefer a blue eyed babe?”

Derek grimaced. “I don’t choose people based on their eye color either. Did you just say babe?”

Stiles grinned, taking another sip of his beer. “Sorry, didn’t mean to objectify the lovely lady with the crop top who just shoved her boobs in your face.”

“She did not.”

“She did so! She practically served them on a coaster!” Stiles was getting into it now, his face getting more and more animated and his hands flying through the air. “At one point I thought she was going to crawl over the bar and put them on your face. That was a veritable breast buffet, and you … “ Stiles trailed off, and Derek could hear alarm bells in his head. “You have no interest in getting in line.” Stiles’s eyes got narrow again, and then his expression went blank. “Ah.”

Derek could see the moment Stiles figured it out, and he wanted to protest, wanted to scribble his number on a napkin and shove it in the bartender’s cleavage if it would help, but he couldn’t get any of his muscles to work.

Scott chose that moment to barrel into the bar with Allison in tow.


	8. Chapter Eight

Stiles didn’t say anything else about the bartender or Derek’s preferences, but he did offer to pick up the drinks on Derek’s next turn, and plucked the bills from Derek’s hand before Derek could protest. Derek still felt like he should get up and hit on a woman, any woman, dance with Allison, whatever did the trick. His heart was pounding in his ears and he felt a dull panic clawing up his spine.

He shoved out of the booth, muttering about the bathroom, and weaved his way to the hallway where the men’s room was. He ran the cold water and splashed his face, blotting it with a paper towel and staring at himself in the mirror. He’d had people figure him out before, not a lot but enough, and he’d never felt this freaked out about it. He didn’t know if it was worse because of the situation, playing summer ball and hoping for a contract, or just because it was Stiles.

Stiles was waiting outside the door, and Derek thought he should be more surprised.

“You alright?”

Derek wiped his palms on his jeans. “I’m fine, I just had to piss.”

“You looked sick when you got up.” Stiles studied his face, and Derek tried not to flinch under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m fine.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He had his hands in his hoodie pockets and he scrunched his shoulders up until they almost touched his ears. “Do you want to head out, I’m pretty beat.”

It was an obvious ploy, Stiles was more perceptive than Derek had given him credit for, but Derek didn’t feel like sitting there the rest of the night pretending that nothing was going on. He nodded, and followed Stiles back to the table.

Getting away from Scott and Allison wasn’t difficult, they were always too wrapped up in each other to notice anything unless it was right in front of their faces. They just waved and went back to whispering to each other and giggling. Stiles rolled his eyes at them, but Derek could tell it was fond, and then led the way out to the parking lot.

Stiles was quiet on the way home, and Derek felt restless, fidgety, wanting to find a topic of conversation that wouldn’t lead to “so I’m gay and really unfortunately attracted to you” but somehow he could see them ending up there even if he started out talking about the weather.

At the end of the McCall’s driveway Derek turned to say goodbye, but Stiles opened his mouth first.

“There’s a meteor shower coming up soon.”

Derek tilted his head.

“Yeah, next week. Peak time should be Wednesday night. There’s a state park nearby, I usually camp out, take my telescope. Scott used to come along, but he hasn’t had a lot of free time, and overnights are totally out.” Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “No one likes to camp alone, dude. It’s just sad. And this should be a really good show. We could take some beer, hang out.”

Stiles obviously wanted to make nice, make up for that night, for outing Derek even if he didn’t say anything, or maybe he wanted to show Derek that it was okay, that he didn’t care, that he was cool with it. Derek had friends at school who had done the same thing when he came out to them. They freaked out at first and then they took him out to dinner, to a club, to a movie. They always felt like they needed to make some sort of gesture.

“You don’t have to do this,” Derek said. Stiles’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Make it up to me or whatever you’re doing.”

“Make it - are you serious? I didn’t even do anything wrong, why would I be making anything up to you?” Stiles’s voice rose with what sounded like frustration, and Derek felt as confused as Stiles had just looked. “Whatever, look, if you don’t want to go just say so, I just thought, since you were interested in the constellations that one night, maybe you’d like the meteor shower. And Scott wanted us to be friends, and we were cool earlier - “ Stiles cut himself off, throwing his hands up. “Never mind. I’ll see you later.”

Stiles got halfway down the block before Derek’s brain caught up with the conversation, and then Derek jogged to catch up with Stiles, not wanting to shout and wake up the neighborhood.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to grab Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles turned around, annoyed. “Sorry, I’d like to go.”

Stiles pulled back, his eyes going wide. “What?”

“I’d like to go. You said Wednesday, right? I’ll need to be at the field by three on Thursday, but yeah. It sounds like fun.” Derek smiled. “Thank you for asking.”

Stiles grinned. “Awesome.”

*****

The state park was just on the edge of town, about a twenty minute drive, and Derek spent it worrying.

They hadn’t seen much of each other the past week; the Moon Dogs had more road games further up north, so not a lot of home fans made the trip. Stiles had Scott over to his place a few times, saying he didn’t want to drive over if Scott was just going to stand him up again. Derek had spent some time with just Isaac and Boyd, and had even gone over to Jackson’s one night to splash around in his host family’s giant pool.

Derek had spent very little time mentally preparing for spending an entire night with Stiles, and it caught up to him about an hour before Stiles was due to pick him up. He almost canceled when he realized that they’d be sharing a tent.

Stiles seemed nervous as well, his thumbs tapping an incessant rhythm on the gear shift and the steering wheel, his lip caught between his teeth.

The campsite was a clearing near the river, on one of the higher hills in the park. Derek got out of the Jeep and looked up at the sky.

“Good night for this,” he said, and Stiles paused in unpacking the Jeep to tilt his head back.

“It is.” He grinned at Derek then, a quick tweak of his mouth, and Derek could tell that under all that uncertainty Stiles was genuinely excited about the meteor shower. Derek found he was too, and grinned back.

The tent wasn’t as small as Derek was expecting, and he was simultaneously glad and disappointed. It went up fast with both of them working, and Derek started a fire while Stiles set up the telescope.

“Hey, hey!” he called a little while later, while Derek was spreading Scott’s sleeping bag out in the tent. “It’s starting.”

Derek pushed through the flap of the tent and Stiles was flat on his back on the ground with a pair of binoculars, flapping one hand in Derek’s direction. Derek saw something flash through the sky and smiled, snagging the bottle of whiskey that Stiles had brought, and the Coke and cups.

He sat cross legged on the blanket next to Stiles and mixed two drinks, sliding in the straws and nudging a cup against Stiles’s arm until he took it and balanced it on his chest. “Thanks.”

They alternated between the binoculars and the telescope, and the meteor shower did not let them down. Stiles showed him where to point the telescope, and what to look for, and Derek spent a minute not seeing the sky at all, too focused on the line of warmth that was Stiles at his back, Stiles’s breath fanning moist and whiskey-scented across his cheek.

The sky put on a show for a good two hours, lights streaking here and there, and Stiles kept mixing drinks. Derek kept drinking them, and ended up solidly over the edge of tipsy and well into drunk without meaning to. Stiles seemed pretty drunk himself, his limbs getting looser and more clumsy as he fiddled with the telescope. When he knocked the lens cap to the ground he held his hands up and declared himself unfit to operate machinery, then flopped back down next to Derek on the blanket, his knee knocking into Derek’s leg.

“I asked Scott once why you were so surly.”

Derek blinked up at the sky, his stomach swooping like he’d missed a step going down stairs. Had there been a conversation going that Derek tuned out of, or was that a non-sequitur? “I’m not surly,” he tried, hoping for the latter.

“Not as much anymore, but you used to be super surly. And that is hard to say when you’re drunk.”

Derek frowned, even as Stiles giggled - actually giggled - next to him. “What did Scott say?”

Stiles pushed up onto one elbow and swayed into Derek’s line of sight. “Dude, don’t get all frowny on me. He said I should cut you some slack. Which I did, even though you were kind of a prick to me sometimes.”

Derek softened his mouth. That had been a nice thing for Scott to say.

“That’s not really an answer though, you know? You’ve been less surly lately, so I was going to chalk it up to like, dislike of new people or whatever, but you seemed fine with your teammates, even that douche Jackson. So I don’t think it’s that. I think it goes deeper than that, your surliness.”

Stiles seemed prepared to ramble on at length about Derek’s surliness, and Derek thought if he went through enough scenarios he might just trip over one or two that were right and Derek’s defenses were too low to play it off. He cut him off at the pass by offering up the one reason that wasn’t “I want to stick my tongue down your throat and that’s a problem.”

“I, uh,” Derek started, and then cleared his throat. “I lost my family a few years ago. Car accident.”

Stiles’s eyes went wide above him, and Derek waited for him to say something. When he didn’t Derek kept talking.

“My parents died instantly, my sister and uncle died later in the hospital. Complications from injuries, they said. They were all I had.”

“Derek.” Stiles’s voice was quiet, and sad, and he leaned down to press his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. He was gone before Derek could react, sitting up and reaching for the whiskey. His long fingers played with a corner of the label that was peeling up, and then he took a pull straight from the bottle before offering it to Derek.

The glass was still damp from Stiles’s mouth when Derek took his own drink.

“My mom died when I was nine.”

Stiles picked at the pills of the blanket and glanced over at Derek.

“I know. Scott told me.”

Stiles nodded, and took the whiskey back. “It fucking blows. It was shitty when it was happening, it was shitty after, and it’s still pretty shitty.”

“That about sums it up.”

Stiles slanted another glance at him, the side of his mouth quirking up. “I’m an eloquent drunk.”

Derek snorted, and leaned almost into Stiles’s lap to snatch the whiskey away. “You’re about that eloquent when you’re sober, too.”

Stiles pushed Derek’s head away, and Derek didn’t think he imagined the way Stiles’s hand lingered in his hair.


	9. Chapter Nine

Derek had always loved waking up next to another person, the warmth of another body, the sound of someone else breathing. It had always been comforting, never awkward, even with his few one night stands.

It wasn’t awkward with Stiles, either. Derek woke up first, his head pounding and his mouth tasting sour. The tent was filled with muted sunlight, filtering in through the nylon walls of the tent, and the smell of damp woods and warmth. Stiles was on his back with his sleeping bag shoved down around his waist, mouth open and snoring softly. One of his arms was flung out to the side, fingers curled up near Derek’s chest like he’d been reaching for something in his sleep.

Derek was muzzy from whiskey and groggy from a night’s sleep on the ground. Stiles’s eyelashes were a dark sweep against his pale cheeks, and Derek couldn’t bring himself to stop staring, even when Stiles started to stir, coming awake in stages.

Stiles turned his head and grinned sleepily, a morning after kind of smile, and Derek’s heart clenched up.

“Morning,” Stiles said, and stretched his arms up over his head. Derek tried to un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Stiles scratched low on his stomach where his shirt had ridden up and exposed skin. 

Derek yanked his gaze away when Stiles looked back up at him, and swallowed hard, grimacing. 

“Yeah, I feel pretty shitty, too. Damn that Jack Daniels for being so tasty. I need bacon. And hashbrowns. So many hashbrowns. And a fountain soda as large as my head.”

“Fountain soda?” Derek’s stomach had started gurgling as soon as Stiles said “bacon”, and he sat up.

“Yes. Not a can, not a bottle. It’s gotta be a fountain drink. There’s a diner in town that knows exactly how I like my hashbrowns. You in?”

*****

_You home?_

The text came in while Derek was still in bed. He was fighting a cold and had slept later than he usually did on an off day, hoping that the extra sleep on top of the meds he was taking would keep him healthy enough to play well.

Since their camping trip Stiles had taken to texting Derek every now and then. Sometimes it was pertinent information, about a game or going out or asking if Scott was home (since he couldn’t trust Scott to be there when he said he would be after he’d been “stood up” multiple times), sometimes it was silly stuff about what Stiles was watching on TV or a conversation he’d overheard that he thought would make Derek laugh.

Derek still wasn’t used to it, still got a little buzz under his skin to accompany the buzz of his phone, and had started keeping his phone in his front pocket so he always knew when a message came in.

 _Yeah._ , he typed back, and laid the phone on his chest, waiting for it to vibrate.

It did three seconds later, and Derek grinned at the screen.

_Can I come over? I have a pile of stupid movies guaranteed to cure any ills._

Derek rolled his eyes, not even questioning how Stiles knew he was sick. Scott probably mentioned it to Allison, or Melissa mentioned it to the Sheriff, or Stiles was just psychic. He always seemed to know everything, it wouldn’t surprise Derek at all.

_If you get my cold, you asked for it._

Ten minutes later Stiles let himself into the house and came downstairs, his arms full.

“What is all that stuff?”

Stiles shrugged. “Movies. Soup. Tea. Normal sick stuff?”

Derek rolled his eyes and scooted over on the couch. “Did you bring a blanket? You do know I live in a house where there is bedding, Stiles.”

Stiles’s hand spread out over the fuzzy thing in his arms protectively. “Shut up, I have a Florence Nightengale thing, okay?”

Stiles laid everything out on the table and Derek eyed the Tupperware container. “Is that soup homemade?”

The sheepish look he received confirmed his suspicions and he sighed to cover the wave of affection that swept over him. “My dad tells me I can be a bit overbearing when he’s sick. I always hope other people will think it’s charming.” He cleared his throat. “It’s my mom’s recipe. She used to make it for me when I was sick.”

Derek felt lightheaded, and it wasn’t from the cold. Stiles kept fiddling with the DVDs, shuffling them in their stack, and Derek wished he could tuck them both under the blanket and forget about batting averages and scouts and signing bonuses. Instead he reached out to still Stiles’s hands, tugging a DVD case out from the pile and slapping it against Stiles’s chest.

“This one. And don’t make my soup too hot.” Derek saw the corner of Stiles’s mouth tilt up before he got to his feet with the bowl clutched in his hands.

“Charming’s still a stretch,” he called out as Stiles loped up the stairs, and his laugh trailed behind him.

*****

The stretch of games that led up to the All-Star Game was a cakewalk, and Derek played better than he had all season. He made the All-Star team as a starter, Isaac and Boyd were both back-ups, and everyone in town started making arrangements to spend a couple of days in Madison.

The Moon Dogs had a few away games the week before the All-Star Game, and Derek barely had time to do laundry and re-pack before he had to board the bus to Madison, where the game was being held.

The night before the game was the All-Star dinner, and Derek didn’t know what to expect. Coach Finstock had given him a lecture about the bigwigs that would be attending, and Derek had come home freaked out about not having a suit. Scott and Stiles were lounging around the living room with their XBox controllers and bags of chips, and Stiles showed up the next day with a garment bag, telling Derek that he may be able to squeeze his “ridiculous shoulders” into his dad’s suit coat.

Derek shifted said shoulders in the borrowed coat and looked around the banquet room. The attendee list was impressive, current major leaguers and managers, franchise owners and scouts all mingling together with drinks in their hands. The current all-stars stuck out with their deer-in-headlights looks and cheaper looking suits.

He lingered near the hor d'oeuvres table, holding a plate but not touching the crackers or veggies he’d filled it with, and tried not to look too awkward. He was debating going over to the nearest group of people and jumping into the conversation when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Being anti-social?”

The voice made him jump, and he almost dropped his plate when he turned around and saw Stiles standing there, grinning like a loon with Scott and Allison at his side. Derek gaped, and the three of them chuckled.

“We bought a table,” Allison said, and smoothed the front of her party dress. “It’s for charity, and we all wanted to be here.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Scott said, and reached out to thump Derek’s arm. “Surprise.”

Derek was surprised, but more by the way Stiles looked in his suit, tie knotted at the base of his throat, his cheeks pink. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“I am definitely surprised,” Derek said, his voice rougher than usual, and all three of them beamed.

They trailed away to the bar after that, claiming they didn’t want to keep him from “rubbing elbows with important baseball folk”, as Stiles said, but Stiles seemed reluctant to leave Derek’s side. Scott had to drag him away by the elbow, and even then Stiles looked back at Derek over his shoulder as he shuffled away. Derek could feel his face getting hot, and wanted nothing more than to plaster himself to Stiles’s side, where he’d feel more comfortable than he did in this room full of strangers.

He made an effort to mingle, talking to a few other players from teams the Moon Dogs had hosted at the Frank, introduce himself to a scout and a former big league manager. After that he needed some air, and he ducked out of the ballroom doors to find the exit, loosening the knot of his tie.

“Trying to escape?” Stiles said, coming up behind him.

“Are you following me?”

“Nah, just had to pee.” Stiles gestured down the hall towards the bathrooms, then cocked his head. “Having fun?”

“It’s a little nerve-wracking.” Derek hadn’t planned on telling Stiles that, but that happened a lot with him and Stiles. He never meant to tell Stiles all the things he told him, and he thought maybe he should stop fighting it. He wasn’t winning. “I was going out for air.”

“Do people really do that?” Derek shrugged. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Don’t you have to pee?”

“I’m an adult, Derek, I can hold it. Let’s go outside so you can freak out about being a big important baseball player, I’ll hit the bathroom on the way back in.”

They found a side door that led out to a parking lot and propped it open with a trash can, and Derek dropped down on the curb and propped his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees. Stiles perched next to him, fingers digging at his collar.

“I hate dressing up like this. I feel like I’m being choked to death. Suits and ties are not good for my anxiety.”

“You look good in a suit,” Derek said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Stiles stopped plucking at his tie and glanced over, eyes narrowed. It was a calculating look, one Derek had seen a few times. Like Stiles was trying to read his mind. Derek thought maybe Stiles really was psychic, and was about to make a joke about it to break the tension when Stiles leaned over and kissed him.

It was a brief, dry press of lips, but it went through Derek like an electric shock, and he jerked back so hard he almost knocked himself off the curb. The look of disappointed and hurt that raced over Stiles’s face took Derek’s breath away, and before he found enough of it to explain Stiles was on his feet, pacing.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. You just, we were starting to be friends, but you look at me sometimes, and I guess I thought, but then I guess I was wrong because of course I was wrong, I’m me. And you’re you, and god we’re at a banquet for your all-star game and there are scouts here and I’m an idiot, Derek, I’m sorry. You’ve got a game tomorrow and a contract to sign and you can’t be kissing spazzes when you’re trying to get signed, why would you want to kiss a spaz anyway, when you look like you do - “

The rant was gathering steam, Derek could tell, Stiles’s fingers frantic at his throat until the tie was undone, the two ends hanging limp against his shirt, and Derek’s mouth was still tingling from the feel of Stiles’s chapped lips. 

Stiles was right about the banquet and the scouts and the game and the contract, but he was wrong about Derek not wanting to kiss him, and at that moment Derek really wanted to correct him. He did it the only way he could think of, by pushing to his feet and grabbing the ends of Stiles’s tie, stopping him in his tracks.

His eyes were still open when he leaned in, and he watched Stiles’s go wide before they fluttered shut, then closed his own as he pressed his mouth to Stiles’s.


	10. Chapter Ten

It didn’t take Stiles long to get with the program, to kiss Derek back like he’d been in on the plan from the beginning, and Derek forgot where they were the second Stiles opened his mouth to let Derek’s tongue in. Stiles’s groan, rumbling up through his chest and throat, vibrating under the palm Derek had placed there, is what brought Derek to, and he pulled back, panting, to look around the parking lot wildly.

“Oh shit,” Stiles said, eyes wide and lips red and wet.

Stiles lifted a hand to rub the back of it against his mouth and Derek grabbed his wrist, pulled it away. He didn’t want Stiles to get rid of the evidence, so to speak, not while they were still alone. Thankfully, still alone.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Derek said, and held up a hand when Stiles started to frown, “not here. I shouldn’t have done that here.”

Stiles’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile, but one corner crept upwards anyway. “But if we weren’t here … “

“Stiles, if we weren’t here, I wouldn’t have stopped.” Derek’s voice was gruff, and it was beyond stupid, but he meant it. Now that he’d started, he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t know if he could.

Stiles shifted his weight and made an aborted movement with his hands, drawing Derek’s attention to the bulge in his pants. “You can’t say stuff like that,” Stiles said, shifting again, and Derek had to close his eyes, count to ten.

“Look,” Stiles said, Derek’s eyes still closed. “Go back in there, make the rounds, mingle. Be charming, even if it hurts you.” Derek’s eyes flew open and he glared when Stiles grinned. “We can continue this later.”

Derek smoothed his hands down the front of his suit, straightened his tie, and nodded. Then he turned on his heel and went back to the party, leaving Stiles fixing his own tie behind him.

*****

Stiles had his own hotel room, because Scott and Allison wanted to take advantage of being away from their parents for one night, and usually their exclusion of Stiles bugged Derek but that night he was grateful for it. He was nervous as he stood outside of Stiles’s door, second thoughts creeping back in, replaying conversations from that night with scouts and major league GMs, cataloguing all the things he could be sacrificing if things went to shit.

The door opened before he could even knock, and Stiles was on the other side of it, jacket and tie discarded, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up, feet bare. He grinned a little ruefully and scratched behind his ear, tilting his head.

“I could hear you thinking,” he said. “Talking yourself out of it?”

Stiles had a good poker face, but Derek could see the hope in his eyes, and he thought, _fuck it_. One night wouldn’t ruin his career. And if it went beyond that, something he wasn’t allowing himself to even contemplate yet, they could make it work. Derek would make it work.

“Nope,” Derek said, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Talking myself into it.”

Stiles grinned, a crooked thing that creased his cheek, and crowded Derek back against the door. “Very funny.”

Derek fit his hands around Stiles’s hips, under his shirt, thumbs brushing the bare skin over the line of his belt. “I’m serious. You’re incredibly annoying, and it’s hard to reconcile wanting to kiss you with that fact.”

“But you do,” Stiles said, grabbing a hold of Derek’s tie with both hands, knuckles grazing Derek’s chest.

Derek answered by leaning forward and kissing him.

It was slower than the one in the parking lot, hotter in the way that Stiles was pressing Derek back against the door, hips moving against Derek’s as he shifted his head for better angles. Derek figured Stiles would be a good kisser, clever tongue and all, and he wasn’t disappointed, barely able to keep up with the way Stiles changed things up every few seconds, leaving Derek panting into his mouth.

Stiles broke the kiss, licking his lips as he pulled back and grinning at Derek, making heat flash through his veins, straight to his cock. Stiles walked backwards towards the bed, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, and hitched his chin, beckoning.

Derek followed, hanging his suit jacket on the back of the desk chair as he passed, toeing off his shoes and reaching down to pull off his socks, coming to the edge of the bed in his pants and shirt as Stiles laid back on the mattress, chest bare and unbuckling his belt.

“Not enough skin, Derek, come on,” he said, lifting his hips to shove his pants down, and Derek’s fingers fumbled on his shirt buttons as Stiles worked his boxers off as well, kicking free of them until he was spread out on the bed, naked. He caught Derek’s reaction and grinned, sly, stretching his arms up over his head, pale skin sliding over lean muscle and bone, moles like a road map from his wrists to his ankles.

Derek wanted to lick each and every one of them.

“Need some help?” Stiles asked, and he looked so smug it made Derek want to take him apart, so he made a show of stripping, peeling the shirt away from his chest and flexing a little as it dropped to the ground, unzipping his pants so slowly Stiles was reaching for him before he was done, Stiles’s long fingers curling under the waistband of his boxer briefs to tug them down.

“Come on, come on,” Stiles said, pressing his face to Derek’s abs, breath rushing hot over the hair trailing down from his navel, and Derek put his hands on Stiles’s shoulders and let Stiles push his pants down, stepping out of them and kicking them away.

Stiles’s was on his knees on the bed, bent over to run his mouth over Derek’s stomach, and his eyes were squeezed closed, hands clasped tight to the fronts of Derek’s thighs. Derek put his thumbs on Stiles’s eyebrows and pressed a little, wanting Stiles to open his eyes and look at him, but as soon as Stiles did, eyelashes fluttering open and looking up at Derek as he moved his mouth lower, Derek could barely handle it.

“Stiles,” he said, and then couldn’t form another word as Stiles’s open mouth slid wetly from the base of his cock to the head, opening around it and then sucking it down.

Derek groaned, head dropping forward and knees threatening to buckle. Stiles’s mouth was hot and so wet, lips pliant around Derek’s length and tongue curling around the head of his dick. He kept a hand curved around the back of Stiles’s head, not pulling or pushing, more hanging on, and with the other he felt Stiles’s cheek, hollowing out as he sucked, skin flushed and warm.

Stiles kept looking up at him through his lashes, eyes darker than Derek had ever seen them, getting wet at the corners when he took Derek deep into his throat, swallowing around him. Derek thumbed the wetness away and panted out Stiles’s name, and Stiles squeezed his thighs hard enough to bruise.

Derek felt too close too fast, and gripped the back of Stiles’s neck, pulling him off and away, and Stiles made a wanting noise.

“Lie back,” Derek said, and Stiles did, shifting back until his head was on the pillows, spreading his knees wide so Derek could crawl up between them.

“I really want to fuck you,” Derek said, skimming his hands up Stiles’s rib cage, and Stiles’s eyes went wide, a flush spreading down his neck and over his chest. “Is that okay?”

Stiles’s laugh sputtered out of him, and he ran his hands over his hair before curving them over Derek’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you’d actually ask me that question.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Derek said, and ducked to press a kiss to Stiles’s throat.

“Derek, I’ve wanted you since basically that first night in the bar, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, I stole a condom from Scott.”

Derek shuddered, nipping at Stiles’s skin.

“Is that a reward for my excellent planning and forethought?”

Derek bit harder, and Stiles bucked underneath him, making a helpless noise in the back of his throat.

They didn’t have lube, so Derek used the hotel lotion to slick Stiles up, opening him with one finger first, then two, then three, curling them and pressing in until Stiles was grinding down on them, chanting Derek’s name and swearing, “I’m ready, dammit, I’m ready, I promise.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” Derek said, rolling on the condom and hooking his hands behind Stiles’s knees, pressing a kiss to one, then the other.

“Maybe I don’t mind a little pain,” Stiles said, challenging, opening himself wider and smirking up at Derek. Derek narrowed his eyes and pushed in, feeling extremely gratified and not a little breathless at the way Stiles’s eyes rolled back in his head.

He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either, setting a pace that was just fast enough to make Stiles thrash on the bed, crumpling the sheets in his fists until Derek bent over him, sucking kisses over his collarbones, and Stiles got his hands in Derek’s hair, fisting that instead.

Stiles made a lot of noise, not that Derek was surprised, but he worried about the thinness of the walls, who was rooming on either side of them, and sealed his mouth over Stiles’s, swallowing down his gasps and moans and sucking curses right off of his tongue.

Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’s cock, hard and leaking between their bellies, and jerked him roughly a few times, getting a bite to the lower lip as a reward. “Is that good?” Derek asked, making sure it wasn’t too hard, too dry, trying to slick him up with his own precome, and Stiles laughed against his mouth.

“Another dumb question,” he said, and closed his teeth over Derek’s jaw. “Don’t stop.”

Derek didn’t, twisting his wrist best he could at that angle, and running his thumb over the slit, and Stiles went rigid underneath him before shaking apart, mouth open against Derek’s jaw, making a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

He clenched around Derek’s cock, and Derek’s thrusts went jerky, out of rhythm, until his own orgasm shivered down his spine, and he panted against Stiles’s temple.

Derek held himself off of Stiles with shaking arms, not wanting to flop down and crush him, and Stiles was running his hands up and down Derek’s back, over each quivering muscle, palms skidding over his damp skin. His mouth was still pressed to Derek’s jaw, his breath evening out, and the moment seemed suspended, Derek getting tenser and tenser under Stiles’s hands.

He pulled out, making a move like he was going to get off the bed altogether, and Stiles let him go, watching him warily as Derek tossed the condom and turned back to the bed.

“Is this the point where you start freaking out? Because honestly I’ve been waiting for it to happen since you kissed me in the garage. I am glad you at least waited until we were finished, because that was awesome, but - “

Derek stopped him by dropping back onto the mattress and kissing him, and Stiles made a surprised noise, fitting his hand to Derek’s cheek.

“Okay then,” he said, his voice soft and his face softer when Derek pulled back, and he wiggled a little, looking content. “Then can we go to sleep? You have a game tomorrow.”

Derek felt a brief wave of panic, but he pushed it back. There was no need to panic. Everything would be fine. He’d sleep, and he’d sneak out the next morning to his own room, and he’d play his game, and everything would be fine.

Everything felt better than fine when he woke up next to Stiles, Stiles draped over him like a blanket, drooling on shoulder, hand curled up in the hollow of Derek’s hipbone. Derek had to wake him up to get out of bed, and Stiles was pliant, warm and sleepy, smiling up at him with half-opened eyes and red cheeks.

“Go back to sleep,” Derek said, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles mumbled at him as Derek got dressed and padded from the room.

No one caught him in the halls, and he felt triumphant as he showered and dressed, meeting his team in the lobby of the hotel.

The triumphant feeling stayed with him through warmups, through changing into his North Division uniform, through the pomp and circumstance of the home run derby, laughing along with his teammates on the sidelines. He glanced around the stadium once or twice, looking for Stiles, but the crowd was too thick, too far away, and he didn’t want to be distracted.

He was still content as he took the field, trotting out to second base when his name was called, and grinned as they tossed the ball around the horn before the pitcher toed the rubber and wound up for the first pitch.

Everything was loose and warm, and he was playing well. And then he turned a quick double play in the third inning, catching a laser beam and stepping on the bag before launching himself into the air, twisting to throw it to first.

His elbow wrenched, shooting pain up his arm, and he landed awkwardly, crumpling to the field.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Derek stayed on the table in the clubhouse for the rest of the game, a bag of ice strapped to his elbow, his other arm pressed over his eyes. His mind had whirred the entire time he was being examined, buzzing with thoughts of the rest of the season, the rest of his career, until he carefully shut them all down, focused on the twinges in his arm as the trainer prodded it.

They scheduled an MRI for him, and packed him up, sent him off with a sling and a pat on the back, grim faces all around. Derek gritted his teeth and went.

By the time he got back to the hotel he had a dozen text messages, and more than half of them were from Stiles.

Derek deleted all of them, shoved his head under his pillow, and went to sleep.

His elbow was sprained, nothing broken, nothing torn. It was good news, but he’d still be out a few weeks, and he felt discouraged, defeated.

He knew it was a shitty attitude to have; injuries happened in sports, and it wasn’t a bad one all told. But something about the timing of it niggled in the back of his mind, made him uneasy under his skin.

Derek had to wait a couple of days before he could start physical therapy, until the swelling went down a little more around the joint. He spent them holed away in his basement room, ignoring phone calls and text messages, including the increasingly angry ones from Stiles.

The moment of the injury replayed over and over again in his head, and he studied it from every angle in his mind’s eye. Could he have done something differently to keep it from happening? He must’ve twisted his body the wrong way, because he’d made plays like that hundreds of times before without straining anything.

After hours of going over every variable the only one that stuck out to him was Stiles, and he berated himself for giving in, when he’d known from the beginning it would just be a distraction. He’d let it become a distraction that got him injured, and one satisfying night wasn’t worth jeopardizing his entire future.

Even if his injury was minor, and all signs pointed to a quick recovery, he had to refocus on his goal, his mission for the summer: getting signed.

He kept ignoring Stiles’s text messages.

Three days went by, the texts getting fewer and further between, until Stiles just busted into the McCall’s house while Derek was just settling in after physical therapy, half-watching another shitty Lifetime movie, and stood in the living room doorway with his hands on his hips.

“You giant, gaping asshole.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, at the tone of Stiles’s voice (and his interesting choice of words), the angry red flush on Stiles’s cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fuck you, Derek, okay? You do not get to give me multiple, amazing orgasms,” he cut his eyes around the room at that, like Melissa was going to leap out from behind the couch and run screaming from the room, “and then ignore my texts because you got hurt.”

Derek kept his eyebrows up, drawing his mouth into a tight line. He sat up straighter on the couch, though, pulling the throw blanket up further into his lap.

“I can practically read your stupid, fucked up thoughts from here,” Stiles said, and crossed his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed. “You’re making some ridiculous connection between us finally sleeping together, and yes I said finally, because you know you wanted it just as long as I did, fucker, and you getting hurt.”

Stiles must’ve seen something in Derek’s face that made his own face soften, and he came closer to the couch, nudging his knee against Derek’s blanket-covered foot.

“You know it doesn’t work like that Derek. You’re not being punished for having a good time. Shit happens, you know? And yeah, getting injured sucks, especially during the all-star game, especially at this point in the season, I know all that. But I also know that it’s not that bad, you’ll be back before you know it, you’ll be back before the scouts really start swarming.”

“That’s not the point, Stiles,” Derek said, and his voice was firm, the tone clear. Stiles sighed heavily, and dropped onto the arm of the couch.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t, like, leap off the couch and thank me for my solid logic by putting your tongue in my mouth.” He slanted a look over at Derek, “You’re not going to leap off the couch and put your tongue in my mouth, are you?”

Derek shook his head, but he was having a hard time not being amused.

“All right. You have to do something else for me then.”

“What?” Derek asked, wary.

“Stop fucking moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Derek said, defensive, sitting up even straighter. Stiles raised his eyebrows, looked from Derek to the television and back again. “Shut up, I just got home, it was the only thing on.”

Stiles laughed, and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you can pretend all you want. You’re not moping. But you’re also not projecting a very positive mental attitude, and you know that shit has an effect on how quickly you recoup, so how about you drag your ass off that couch and go put on some real clothes. It’s gorgeous outside.”

“What are you going to try to make me do?” Derek got up off the couch anyway, because even if he wasn’t going to put his tongue in Stiles’s mouth - as much as he wanted to, that was why he’d been avoiding Stiles, he always wanted to - he wasn’t looking forward to spending the rest of the day lying around in his pajamas.

“Let’s go to the park or something. Toss a ball. Have a few beers. Maybe we can even get you to smile.” Stiles made it sound like a crazy possibility, like it would be a magic trick. Derek grinned just to prove a point, and Stiles laughed. “Go get dressed. Freak.”

Stiles had looked up his injury, of course he had, and some approved exercises, so they played an easy game of catch in the warm summer sunshine, tossing a softball back and forth. Derek’s elbow was sore, but not as bad as the day before or the day before that, and Derek took a break after a while to rest on the grass, arm elevated on his stomach.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles asked, and he looked worried, chewing his lip. Derek wanted to pull him down to the ground, tug him up against Derek’s side. They could take a nap right there on the soft, sun-heated grass, kids running and shrieking around them. Derek wanted Stiles’s warm, solid body tucked up against his so bad his hand was snaking across the grass without his permission, and he snatched it back at the last second, tucked it under his own hip.

Stiles caught the motion and frowned, and Derek looked away, guilty.

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, Derek sneaking glances of Stiles’s grim, drawn face, and then Derek sighed. “Let’s go get ice cream, I’m hot.”

Stiles’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t eat ice cream.”

“I do when I’m injured.”

They got ice cream, and Derek paid, but Stiles barely smiled, even when he got his first mouthful of hot fudge. He licked his spoon, and caught Derek staring, but instead of making a show of it like he normally would he pulled it out of his mouth with a pop and frowned, stabbing at the mound of ice cream in his dish.

Stiles stuck his nose into nearly every aspect of Derek’s rehab, asking a jillion questions about what the trainers were saying during PT, until Derek finally got tired of it and dragged him along one day, letting him interrogate the trainers instead. He did, and got a list of what Derek should or should not be doing at each point in his rehabilitation, and then showed up at the McCalls regularly to make sure Derek was on schedule.

He progressed even faster than the doctors had originally forecasted, and the Moon Dogs were still winning, and Coach said Derek’s name was still being bandied about, same as it was pre-injury, so all was well.

Other than Stiles, who joked and laughed while he supervised Derek’s stretches, who prodded him while they jogged, who still texted him constantly, but who was doing all of that with that same grim face, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Derek was frustrated, cracking increasingly lamer puns to try to get him to laugh a real laugh, who tried alternating between touching him more and touching him less to try to loosen Stiles up, because nothing was working.

Derek took batting practice in the last week of his rehab, testing out his elbow while shagging ground balls, feeling not even a twinge of discomfort as he threw to first. He felt exhilarated afterwards, laughing with the guys in the locker room, bumping shoulders with Isaac and Boyd as they walked out.

Stiles was at the McCalls when Derek got home, playing XBox with Scott, and Derek plopped down next to him, shook his wet hair at Stiles like a dog, making Stiles cringe away.

“Douche,” Stiles said, but the insult lacked heat, and Stiles wiped the droplets off his face with the neck of his tee shirt, not even looking over at Derek.

Derek frowned, the buzz of a great practice fading, and Scott peeked over at him, eyebrows drawn.

“You’re being weird,” Scott said, and it was unclear which “you” he meant.

“Your mom,” Stiles said, and unpaused the game. Scott jabbed the start button, re-pausing it. “What the fuck, dude?”

“I’m going to take a leak. You two are going to figure your shit out.” Scott tossed his controller onto the coffee table and left, shaking his head. Stiles grumbled under his breath.

“You are being weird,” Derek said, and Stiles got so red so fast Derek was worried he was going to pass out.

“Fuck you, Derek, you don’t get to say that. I’ve been trying to help, okay, and stay out of your hair on the other thing because you clearly have no idea what the fuck you want. I’m trying to be your friend.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be my friend,” Derek said, because it was clear that just being friends didn’t work for them. It was making Stiles miserable, and Derek didn’t want Stiles to be miserable. He wanted Stiles to be happy. It was time to stop blaming his fluke injury on him, because it hadn’t made much of a difference in the big picture, Derek was going to start playing again the next week, and it looked like the Moon Dogs were going to the playoffs so the scouts would start showing up in droves, and Derek was tired of denying himself anyway.

Stiles looked hurt, and Derek took a moment to think back over what he’d said. “Oh, I didn’t mean … oh fuck it,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

“God, gross,” Scott said, but he was smiling when Derek pulled back. “I said figure your shit out not make out on the couch.”

“I would say I’m sorry,” Derek said, watching a real smile bloom across Stiles’s face, “but I’m really, really not.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

The Moon Dogs traveled to St. Cloud for Derek’s first game back off the disabled list, and they won handily, crossing the plate nine times to the Rox’s two. Derek’s elbow felt great all game, and it still felt great afterwards.

It felt even better the next day, when he was able to hook it around Stiles’s neck after finding him napping on Derek’s pull-out couch, and he woke Stiles up with a kiss.

“Good game,” Stiles mumbled sleepily, blinking up at Derek.

“Great game,” Derek said, and kissed him again.

Derek came back with a vengeance, playing like he’d never played before, and the scouts started trickling into games the closer they got to the playoffs. Stiles came to every home game, and some of the away games too, sitting with Scott and Allison, sometimes Melissa, sometimes Lydia and Erica. He brought his dad to the first game of the semi-finals, and they waited out in the parking lot for Derek to shower and change.

“Dad, this is Derek. Derek, this is my dad.”

“John,” Stiles’s dad said, and held out his hand for a shake. “Hell of a game, Derek.”

Derek shook, and caught the edge of Stiles’s grin in the corner of his eye. “Thanks, John.”

They shuffled their feet on the pavement and talked about the game, and John had Stiles’s crooked smirk but more crinkles by his eyes, and he clapped Derek on the shoulder before grabbing Stiles by his and directing him towards the car.

The Moon Dogs made it to the NWL World Series, but they got swept by the La Crosse Loggers, playing a weak game at the Loggers’ field, and the locker room was quiet afterwards, despondent. They were staying the night and driving back the next day, and they piled onto the bus to the hotel, dragging their bags behind them.

Derek’s phone buzzed while he was settling in next to Isaac.

_Come to my room when you get back? 207_

Derek sent back an _okay_ , too listless to even use punctuation, and let his head drop back against the seat.

Stiles opened the door with his bottom lip between his teeth, and fluttered his arm nervously at the room, letting Derek go past.

Derek’s back was still turned when Stiles started speaking, and Stiles grabbed his shoulders to keep him from turning around. “I’m sorry about the game. It was kind of a shitshow.” Derek’s shoulders tensed up, hunching in Stiles’s hands, and Stiles gripped harder, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise. “Just listen. The team didn’t have it tonight, but you played awesome. You turned an amazing double play, and you hit a rocket in the third, and you drew a walk against a pitcher who rarely gives them up, okay, you played awesome.”

Derek sighed, relaxing slightly, because Stiles was right, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still suck that they lost the championship.

Stiles didn’t say anything, but he was still holding Derek’s shoulders, so Derek looked back at him best he could and raised an eyebrow. “What’s your point, Stiles?”

“My point is you’re not allowed to break up with me because your team lost a game, because that would be stupid, and you need to stop being stupid.”

Derek couldn’t help it, he laughed. Because that was, surprisingly enough, the last thing Derek had been thinking. He’d actually been looking forward to crawling into bed with Stiles and forgetting baseball for a little bit.

“Shut up, dick. Like that wasn’t a totally reasonable assumption to make.” Stiles sounded pissy, but when Derek turned to him he was grinning. Derek reached forward and snagged a handful of Stiles’s tee shirt, dragging him forward until he was pressed up against Derek, knees to chest.

“Fair point,” Derek said, and slid his arms around Stiles’s waist, hands splayed in the small of his back to hold them together. “I’m not going to break up with you because we lost.”

Stiles’s grin went crooked, and Derek tamped down a smirk of his own, keeping his face totally straight.

“I can’t break up with you anyway, we’ve never even said we were dating.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, because Derek’s shitty attempts at humor were never lost on him. “That’s probably because you’re the worst at actually communicating like a human being.”

Derek let his smirk spread across his face then, pressing it to Stiles’s grinning mouth.

Stiles tumbled him to the mattress once he’d kissed him pliant, and Derek let Stiles crawl all over him, hands roaming and mouth skidding over his skin in no discernible pattern, just Stiles taking what he wanted when he wanted it. He started out licking over Derek’s abs, then bit kisses over his pecs, then sucked a few bruises into the insides of Derek’s thighs. Derek loved - liked, enjoyed - when Stiles was unpredictable like that, not knowing where his mouth or his fingers were going to land made every touch a surprise, and left Derek shaking and gasping while Stiles tipped his head up to smile at him.

Derek tried to flip them at one point, when he was feeling out of control and desperate, but Stiles shook his head, pressing down on Derek’s shoulders with his hands. “Just,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Just let me.”

And then he slid his warm, wet mouth down the length of Derek’s cock, taking him so deep Stiles’s eyes watered and his throat fluttered around the head, and Derek lasted approximately a minute and a half before he came with a shout.

After Derek returned the favor, stroking long and low with one tight fist while he sucked at the head of Stiles’s dick, they laid side by side on the bed and let their breathing slow down, grinning at each other.

Stiles got serious when Derek tugged him over to cuddle, because Derek loved the feeling of Stiles’s body next to him in bed, the smoothness of the skin over his ribs and the rough feeling of the hair on his legs and arms.

“What’s going on in that head?” Derek asked, because Stiles was always thinking about a million things and sometimes it was too hard to untangle the expressions that flitted across his face.

“I heard some scouts talking about you,” he said, and his fingers gripped tighter at Derek’s side.

“Oh?” Derek said, but his heartbeat kicked up a notch. There had been a lot of buzz pre-game about the pitching matchup, star vs. star, but Derek’s name had been tossed around a little bit, the bright young second baseman with a golden glove and impressive offensive power.

“Yeah. Sounds like you’re a sure thing. Which I knew, of course.” Stiles yelped a little when Derek pinched his arm, but then settled against him again. “You’re going to get signed, and you’re going to go away.”

“I’m going to go away anyway, Stiles,” Derek said, and his heart was thundering now, because this was a conversation he’d been avoiding.

Derek had known from the beginning that eventually he was leaving. Whether he signed a contract or not he’d be going back to California, back to school, for at least a semester. He’d tried not to think about it when he and Stiles were together, but the thought not being able to see Stiles, kiss him in his Jeep after a game or wake up next to him on off days, made Derek’s chest tight and his throat ache.

“I know, but somehow you going back to school doesn’t feel as final as you going away to play baseball.”

Derek tucked his fingers under Stiles’s chin, tipped it up and looked down at his solemn face. He always looked so odd to Derek when he wasn’t grinning like an idiot, and Derek had the sudden thought that all he wanted to do (other than be a major league ballplayer, of course) was keep a smile on Stiles’s face.

“Neither one has to be final, Stiles. If we want to make it work, we can make it work.”

Stiles’s smile was slow, spreading across his face. “Wow. That’s quite an admission.”

Derek tilted his head back and forth, made a face like it was no big deal, but Stiles obviously wasn’t buying it. He leaned up to press a kiss to Derek’s mouth, and then laid his head back on Derek’s chest, right over the heart.

“I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the Mets. You’d look good in blue and orange.”

Derek grinned up at the ceiling and squeezed Stiles’s a little closer. He’d wear neon pink and green if it meant he could play major league ball, but he couldn’t help agree with Stiles. He would look good in blue and orange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is "the end" but there will be an epilogue, which is done, and will be posted tomorrow.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented, and stuck with this story as I've been posting it. I've never posted a work in progress before, and it was an experiment to see if it would make me write faster. It did the exact opposite, actually, and I don't think I'll be doing it again. I do think that without posting that first chapter I wouldn't ever have finished this story, and I'm glad I did, because Derek playing baseball is something there should be so much more of.
> 
> I really appreciate all the encouragement I've received over the past seven - eight months. This fandom can be so lovely, and I'm grateful to be a part of it.
> 
> <3


	13. Epilogue

Road wins meant finding a bar near the hotel and celebrating, and after three years in the majors Derek learned to go along, even if he only had one beer before calling it a night, because it was easier to go along than endure whining and teasing from the younger guys about being an old man.

They found a sports bar, because as much as some of the guys talked about hating the attention, they still loved to sit in the corner of a place watching game highlights, Baseball Tonight recapping the Mets’ solid win over Phillies, showing Deuce’s circus catch in the eighth in slow-mo and lauding Max’s eight inning shutout.

Derek still begged off early, ducking through the small crowd with his cap pulled down over his eyes. The bar was close enough to the hotel that Derek opted to walk, because it was a warm, clear summer night, and the streets were empty enough on a Tuesday that he could probably make it the half a mile fairly unmolested.

He was stopped at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change when his phone rang, and he dug in his pocket for it, smiling down at the screen before swiping at the screen to accept the call.

“You better not still be in the library,” he said by way of greeting, because Stiles was neck deep in reading for his grad school classes, and when Derek had left their condo in Brooklyn a few days prior he’d been stocking up on Red Bull and snacks that were easily packable in a backpack, like he’d been planning to spend the length of the Mets’ road trip holed up amidst the stacks.

Stiles laughed, and Derek could picture him, surrounded by the detritus of grad school studying: notebooks covered in his cramped, sloppy handwriting, chewed-up highlighter caps, crumpled bags of Doritos. Their place was probably a disaster area, because Stiles was messy at the best of times, something Derek had been warned about by multiple people when Stiles had gotten his acceptance letter to NYU’s graduate program. Derek had brushed them all off, because after four years of long-distance dating he was really fucking ready to live with Stiles, even if he was a total slob.

“I’m not still in the library, I promise. Heading home, actually.”

“Good.”

“I listened to the game,” Stiles said, and Derek could hear the noise of the city in the background. He loved New York more than he’d ever thought he would, and only partially because it was the city he played ball in. It was also partially because Stiles was there, and that made it feel more like home than anywhere else ever had. He’d also grown to love the city itself, the noise and the odd places you could find quiet, the rush of people and traffic, and their quiet, painfully hip neighborhood just a train ride away.

“It was a good one,” Derek said, and Stiles hummed over the line.

“Are you outside?”

“Yeah, I’m walking home too, or back to the hotel as it were.”

“Home away from home,” Stiles said, and they shared a laugh. “Is it clear there too?”

Derek tipped his head back to scan the cloudless sky, “Yep.”

“Can you see Procyon?”

Derek stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, squinted upwards. He’d gotten used to finding the star, it had become a cheesy sort of thing they did, when Stiles was still in undergrad and Derek was traveling all over playing baseball. He picked out the bright pinprick of light in the sky and zeroed in on it, and listened to Stiles breathing over the line and something seemed to settle in his chest.

“Yep,” he said, and he could almost hear Stiles’s grin. “I can see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all she wrote.
> 
> All my love to Mel, AJ, Fox, and everyone else who has been around for this whole thing. <3


End file.
